Rebellion (18 page)

“What do you think, Isaac?” Xylia placed her skewer on the wall, wiping her fingers on her pants.

Isaac winced. “We have to believe that they are alive.”

“And what will we do once we inform them of the attack on Bellator?” Ballard asked.

“We continue to look for allies throughout Elysium. I am sure once we inform them of what happened, they will side with us on this quest,” Isaac answered.

“I do not want to be the pessimist here,” Ballard raised his eyebrows. “But who is to say that they have not sided with Lucifer already?”

Isaac rubbed his forehead with his fingers.

“We must take the risk,” he replied with a worried look while cracking his knuckles. For a moment, he gazed at the window behind him. I could tell he was deep in thought, probably thinking of the various outcomes this journey could have. Though I desired to trust him with all my heart, a part of me still questioned if there was something he was hiding. I still could not understand how he had been able to kill Nylora in Bellator.

“I wonder if there have been other attacks.” Ballard cleared his throat. “I worry if Valley Hills is still safe.” His voice dwindled away.

Isaac shot me a daunting look. I knew at that moment that we were both thinking the same thing.
Should we tell him about his father?
Anatolio Radley was his father and the Overseer of Valley Hills, a village located near the River of Abstergo. I had not forgotten the moment when Isaac and I saw his father’s body being devoured by a Shadow.

“Ballard.” I dropped my shoulders. “There is something that Isaac and I must share with you.”

Ballard scowled, laying his skewer against the base of the fireplace.

Isaac scratched his chin, standing to his feet.

“Devin and I visited Valley Hills. We were heading to Mag Mell, hoping to find allies, when we stumbled across the village.”

Ballard leaped up.

“Did you see my father?” he asked with wide eyes. “You probably met him. Why did you not tell me that you visited my village?”

Isaac approached him, kneeling at his side.

“Your village is gone, Ballard.” He laid his hand on his shoulder. “They were all attacked by an army of Shadows.”

Ballard shook his head in disbelief. Creases appeared between his brows.

“Gone?” he mumbled through short breaths. “And my father?” His lips quivered, already expecting the worse.

A cold shiver went down my spine as the images of the attack continued to flash in my mind.

“He died,” Isaac replied. “When we arrived, your father had already been killed.”

Fear and sorrow settled in the room. They were all quiet, listening. In their minds, they probably wondered if those that they loved were still alive.

Ballard grunted, punching the wooden floor with such force that blood splattered on his clothes.

Isaac tried to hold him as he continued to strike the floor with his right hand. With great strength, Ballard arose to his feet and pushed Isaac against the wall. With tears streaming down his face, and with both of his hands pressed against his head, he marched his way up the stairs. I heard the sound of a door banging. I glanced up and saw that Ballard had gone inside one of the rooms.

Isaac turned, facing everyone around the fireplace.

“Are you all afraid of our enemy?” he inquired in a loud voice. “Are you?”

Xylia lifted her eyes to him. “Not only do we fear our enemy, Isaac. We fear that we might lose our lives during this war.”

“Then you are not worthy of being on this journey.” There was anger inside his iridescent eyes. “While you fear for your lives, the ones we love are losing theirs.”

“We never asked to be bearers,” Petra remarked. “We never asked for any of this to happen.”

“But it did,” Isaac said with an edge to his voice. “We are the bearers of the five books of Lucifer and we are being hunted by the Fallen Stars, the Nephilins, and now the blood-drinkers.” With slow steps, he paced around the room. “Though they are not here, every time fear finds its way into our hearts, they win. We cannot be afraid of our doom if it brings redemption to Elysium. We might have lost loved ones, but there is still a whole world that needs to be saved. Though the darkness might seem to thicken every day, we must believe that there is strength in us to destroy it.”

The crackling sound of the flames loudened as silence settled.

“Isaac is right,” Demetre said. “Those that we have lost must inspire us to fight for those that are alive.”

“Your courage is admirable,” Xylia retorted, standing to her feet. “Yet you seem to forget that we are not the ones that returned from the Wastelands. We are not as brave as you.”

“I heard it said once that a man is as man thinks, Xylia,” said Petra, looking at me from the corner of his eye. “We must believe that there is a greater purpose behind us having these books.”

“In the Prison of Despair, Death took me to the Wastelands of Tristar and showed me the spirits of those that died without knowledge of the truth. Their souls are being controlled by the Fallen Stars, and while they have that control, those people will never rest. They will always remain in the Wastelands, unconscious.” Isaac raised his right hand, closing it into a fist. “It is not that we must not be afraid. We must not allow fear to control our actions anymore.”

“So we fight for the freedom of the living and the dead?” Petra asked in a low voice.

“Yes, my friend.” Isaac turned to Petra. “If those that we loved died ignorant of the truth about Lucifer and the Creator, their spirits are also prisoners in the Wastelands of Tristar and their souls are being controlled by the Fallen.”

All in the room gazed at Isaac. They knew—we knew—that if fear continued to dictate our actions, we would soon meet our doom.

After all were done eating and chatting, they started making their way one by one up the stairs into the rooms. At least tonight we had a roof over our heads.

“Are you coming up, Devin?” Demetre asked.

“I will be fine here.” I remained seated in front of the fireplace, watching the flames burn the logs into ashes.

XII

Though my eyelids were heavy, I could not sleep. In my mind, I kept seeing the frightening image of the creature that had attacked me. Never in my fourteen hundred years had I seen such a monstrosity. What other devilries had infiltrated Elysium? My mind was too preoccupied with the many unanswered questions that still lingered. I watched the fire burn low while trying to think of logical answers.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow outside. I heard the faint neigh of a horse and the groans of a man.

I grabbed my sword, rising to my feet. After a couple of seconds, the footsteps ceased. I could still hear the labored breaths of both the horse and the man.

With great caution, I opened the door. The cold air invaded the living room. I stepped outside and caught sight of the animal and its rider standing immobile in front of the door. The man was wrapped in a thick, dark fur cape; his head curved down.

Was he an enemy? Where had this man come from?

He let out painful groans as he lifted his head.

“Help me,” he whispered in a broken voice.

“Who are you?” With caution, I took three steps in his direction, my feet sinking beneath the snow.

“Help…” His voice trailed off as he fell unconscious. I ran to him once I realized that he was about to fall from his horse. The moment my hands touched him, I smelled the pungent odor of rotten flesh. I held my breath, fixing my eyes on his narrow face. A gash flowing with blood took the place of his right eye. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties; a tattered dark beard covered his face. The horse was also wounded with a long cut on its neck.

“Devin!” I looked back and saw Isaac running toward me. “Who is this man?”

“I am not sure. He is badly wounded.” The man groaned in pain. “Take the horse to the stall while I bring him inside,” I said, rushing my way to the house.

Where had this man come from? What kind of creature had wounded him this way?

“Ballard!” I yelled, marching up the stairs. The man let out low groans.

“Yes,” he croaked. He opened the door of his room, rubbing his eyes with his hands. Petra stood behind him with a worried look on his face.

“I need you.” I barged inside.

“Who is that? What is that smell?” Petra inquired, making his way to the window. He covered his nose.

“I don’t know.” I laid him on the bed. Demetre entered the room. His face was shrouded with fear once he laid eyes on the man.

“Help.” The man struggled to raise his left hand. Sweat poured down his face like a waterfall.

“Get me water, Petra,” Ballard ordered while analyzing the severe condition of the man’s face. Petra rushed his way out.

“What is all this noise?” Xylia stood under the doorpost. Her eyes widened once she saw the horrific scene. “How may I help?” She rushed her way to us.

“Where is Adara?” I asked, worried.

“Sleeping with the boy,” she responded, watching the man’s wounded face.

“He has a high fever.” Ballard had his hand pressed against the stranger’s forehead.

Petra rushed into the room holding a silver metal bucket.

“Here is the water,” he said, laying the bucket next to the bed.

“Get me my satchel,” Ballard said, his lips quivering. I looked at him, confused as to why his eyes were brimming with tears.

Demetre grabbed ahold of the satchel that was on the floor. “Here, Ballard.”

Ballard was about to reach for it when he recoiled his hands.

“Inside, there is a small glass vial with a bright golden liquid. Find it, please.” He spoke in an agitated voice, taking long deep breaths, fixing his gaze on the man once again. Tears started pouring from his tired brown eyes.

“Why don’t you—”

“Please, Demetre!” he shouted. “Just…find it.”

Demetre’s lips went rigid. He lowered his head, searching for the object Ballard needed.

“Is this it?” he asked, hopeful. In his hand was a vial filled with a yellow liquid.

Ballard shot him a quick glance and gave him a silent nod. He reached for the object with trembling hands.

“Ballard,” I grasped his wrist, “this man needs your help. He is dying. Can you help him?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

With quivering breaths, he tightened his eyelids together, pressing his fingers between his eyebrows.

I released his wrist. He reached for the vial, pouring the liquid into the bucket.

“Now we wait,” he whispered, looking at the man.

“How long?” I heard the man grind his teeth as he groaned. “He does not have much time.”

“Just a few seconds,” he replied.

“Help,” he whispered once again as he tried to raise his left hand.

“You will be fine, sir,” said Ballard, grasping the man’s weak hand.

Xylia, Petra, and Demetre watched the scene with fervent eyes.

“Where is Isaac?” Demetre’s eyes surveyed the room.

“He should be outside. I asked him to take this man’s horse to the stall,” I replied, keeping my eyes focused on the man.

“I will go find him,” Demetre said, dashing out of the room.

“I’ll come with you,” added Petra as he followed him.

Ballard cupped his hands and submerged them in the golden liquid in the bucket. A fragrance similar to that of blooming daisies arose.

He held his hands over the man’s face, letting the liquid drip from his palms and fingers. He bit the corner of his lip as the tears once again appeared. With a vacant expression, he watched the drops of golden fluid touch the man’s wounds, run down his tattered beard, and drip on the sheets that covered the bed.

Moments later, the man’s moaning ceased; his breathing was smooth and steady.

I sighed, resting my right elbow on my knee.

“Good job,” I murmured, tapping Ballard on the shoulder.

“My father taught me well.” He wiped his nose with his right wrist. He rose to his feet and marched down the wooden staircase.

“I will go check on Adara and the boy.” Xylia exited the room.